by Niki Hager
"Busy being an introvert. Sorry, I don't do well talking … well, talking to people."
A devious grin stretches across his face, "I see, then we don't have to ta—”
"She said she was busy, bro," a deep voice coming from behind me cuts him off.
Roman. The sound of him saying bro is funny. I don't think bro would come out of his mouth naturally. The thought makes me giggle. However, when I look behind me, it's to see him scowl, and suddenly nothing is funny. Eyes slanted, nostrils flared, jaw tight. Nope, not funny. Wow, random plot twist. Though, not an unwelcome one. He's staring Jock down as if he'd just killed his kitten. Okay, so maybe Roman's not the kitten kind of guy.
"Ah. Okay, I get it now," Jack-Jock sneers, and with disgust and disapproval clouding his face, he shakes his head back and forth.
"Get what?" I ask, looking back and forth look between these two guys who, before today, had not ever verbally acknowledged my presence.
"I see now, I'm not your type," he says condescendingly and walks out.
"What the shit was that?" I exclaim. "What was with you and Jack-Jock?" I ask Roman, secretly thankful he came to my rescue but a bit annoyed he thinks he can jump in out of nowhere.
"Hmph. Jack-Jock, more like Jackass," he grumbles and walks straight through the doorway, not looking back. No goodbye or anything. I gape after him, brows raised and mouth falling open.
"Unbelievable," I grunt and throw my arms up in confusion.
I just so happen to know he turns right to go to the end of the hall elevators. I'm not a stalker, I swear, I only noticed last week. I, on the other hand, have to go left and take the stairs. But I can't help but pause at the doorway.
I watch as this brooding boy with a brown backpack struts straight toward the elevator. He slams his hand unnecessarily hard on the down button. Something got to him just now. He was laughing not an hour ago.
"Rigbee, can I talk to you for a moment?" Weiss calls out.
Shit. Twice in the same five minutes, really? I tighten up, turn around, and walk back to his desk. I should have left when I had the chance instead of standing there staring at the elevator door.
"Yes, sir?"
"Oh, you can cut the sir crap. You're an adult, and we're not in high school."
"Okay …" I say, nervously.
"I wanted to check in with you and see how you're doing. Have you found your partner and subject matter yet?"
"No, not yet," I answer. "But I have until Thursday right?" I ask in a panic. I swear I heard him correctly.
"Yes, yes of course. I …" He inhales and sighs. "Well, I'll come right out and say it. I want to let you know that I understand some of the reservations you're having in class, but you are going to have to start participating or I won’t be able to justify granting you the participation points each week." He shifts uncomfortably. "If you ever want to talk about anything, you know the office hours and my door is open," he reminds me. Then he sets his elbows on the table, intertwines his fingers, and sits his chin on his now folded hands.
I accidentally bark out a single laugh. I can't help it, it's so cliché. What complete bullshit. Very justified bullshit, but bullshit nonetheless. He has no clue as to what I go through to get through the day.
"You're laughing?" he says to me with a smile. "You know I don't open up about my own personal life to many people, so know, I see something special in you, let’s call it a kindred spirit or something of the sort." He unfolds his hands and gestures at me.
I stop laughing and start to listen to his exclusive piece of information.
"I don't like attention, you know, outside of the classroom I'm a quiet guy, but it might be beneficial for you if I tell you a little bit about myself. I have depression, and an anxiety disorder. I'm not sure if you can relate, but I sense you can," he says, cutting right to the chase. "I heard someone once recite a quote and it really resonated, so I'm going to tell you, ‘The worst mistake you can make is to be constantly scared of making one’.”
Well, damn, his advice makes sense.
Turn The Tide, Ask For A Ride
The Days Of The Phoenix- AFI
Rigbee
Wednesday after school I walk in to find the apartment empty—Enzo is out again. I do miss him, since he's been going out a lot. But sometimes I need alone time so I don't bring him down with me. I've started to focus my energy building a better me on my own. I've appreciated all of his help, but I can't be the broken friend who he feels he has to help fix anymore. He knows too much of my past, and I don't think I will ever make progress on myself if he doesn't let me do it myself. I want to be normal.
At school when I'm around people who don't know me, I feel like any other girl, which is nice. It's also hard, though, because I don't want to tell anybody about it. So, if and when it happens, no one else except Enz will understand, hence why I can't ever have a healthy, functional relationship. I am stuck overthinking for the remainder of the night.
"Let's skip out at break today and go get coffee," Martin says to me as soon as I sit down in class.
"What, why? I don't know if skipping's such a good idea," I reply hesitantly.
"Sure it is, we are not really doing anything we can't read about in the text later," he assures me. "Plus, it's the perfect way to get you and your hair boy talking."
"Wh-What?" I stutter. "What do you mean?"
"You know, casually ask a couple of us if we wanna ditch for coffee, he won't say no then," he states, matter-of-fact.
"Um … okay, sounds like a decently contrived, albeit, manipulative idea."
Martin points a finger at me and says, "There is one condition."
"Lay it on me," I counter.
"You have to ask him yourself." His mouth curves into a satisfied smile.
Son-of-a-bitch.
"Wow, you look pale. Are you okay?" he asks me.
"Yes, I think. I can … I can," I say more to myself than him. I need to. I want to do this.
"Atta girl, take a big dose of 'Might as fuckin’ well' and make your move." Martin slaps me on the back, like I'm a kid on his soccer team.
Roman is just walking in.
"Hey, man," Martin says to Roman as he takes his seat.
"Hey?" he replies, looking a bit confused.
I would be too; I think that's the first time Martin has spoken to him directly.
Come break time, I am a pile of nerves. Martin looks right at me, and gives me the go ahead look. I muster up as much courage as I have, and go with it.
"Hey, Martin, let's skip the rest of class and go get a coffee or something? I'm in desperate need of a break from Poli Sci." I think I sounded fine. Nice and normal.
"Sure, yeah okay. Sounds good, actually. I'll need some caffeine for my night class anyway." He winks at me, and looks at the little blond in front of me. "Katie, would you like to join us?"
Ahh, Katie is her name. I was wondering.
"No, thank you. I really need to stay, thanks for the invite, though."
Wait, what. I thought Martin said she'd go. She looks back and smiles at me. She turned him down on purpose for some reason.
"I'm game, guys," the big dude behind me says next.
Martin looks right at me with a what are you waiting for stare.
Here goes nothing. I look right at Roman. He's reading something out of the text again and doesn't look up. This is more difficult than I anticipated.
I clear my throat and say, "Do you wanna come too?"
He looks up from the book. I'm not sure if he knows it was him I was talking to.
I ask again, "Coffee. Would you like to go get coffee with us?"
"Now? As in, leave for the rest of class?" he asks, hesitantly.
"Yeah?" My answer comes out sounding more like question.
He looks completely conflicted. There is a war going on inside of that head of his, and I really want to know why. I watch with anticipation and intrigue as he comes to a decision.
"It's just coffee," I reas
sure.
A gruff sounding groan tumbles out of him almost like he's pained.
"All right, fine."
Way to be enthused, I sarcastically think to myself. He's acting as if I'm making him do something terrible. Nevertheless, he's going, so a brick immediately forms in my stomach. Crap, I forgot how this means I actually have to socialize.
We all make our way out to the parking lot. I decide to take the dose of "might-as-fuckin’-well" Martin so eloquently suggested.
"Hey, Roman, can I ride with you?" I ask.
"Um … Yeah … Sure," he replies, pausing between each word, and then he nervously scratches at the back of his head.
"My car's right over there," he points to an old white Buick Lesabre.
I follow next to him. I'm relieved he didn't ask why. I didn't have a plan for that. I don't have a convincing excuse for why I asked to ride along with him instead of the others, other than just plain wanting to.
Roman
That's when I knew. We've conveyed it a dozen times with our eyes, but that is the exact moment I knew for sure. I am so fucked.
Rigbee
I thank Roman for the ride back as he pulls into the lot.
"No worries."
"That's me, over there." I show him.
He drives to where I point, harshly puts the car in park, and looks at me. His eyes, they are daring me. He already knows. What's the worst that could happen now? It's physically tiring to wonder. If he doesn't like me, well then we will only have to awkwardly work on a speech together for the next few weeks. No big deal, right?
I turn my whole body toward him and suck in a deep breath.
"I find you incredibly attractive I don't know why but I'm drawn to you." I spit the words out fast, running them together, before I change my mind. I hope he understood.
Say something, say something, I think to myself. He sits there, chewing on his bottom lip, aghast. Staring at me, and saying nothing. Time to get out of his car.
"Okay, well thanks again for the ride," I spout, trying not to appear as mortified as I am. "See ya Tuesday, I guess." I make an extra effort to be as un-weird as possible while I open the car door, so I can get the hell out of here and fast.
"No, wait. Bu— Rigbee wait, I … uh … I think …" He lowers his head, shakes it and then clears his throat. "Okay, wow." He exhales a low whistle.
"It's fine, really. I'll go." I pull on the handle and open my door again. As I'm about to step out, I hear him groan,
"Wait."
I pull my leg back in and sit statue-like against the seat.
"What?" I study him, as I anxiously await his dreaded response.
"Here."
He takes out his cell phone and then looks at me. His eyes catch the low glow of the sunset making them appear warmer. Dusk looks good on him. I'm momentarily mesmerized. They are dark and deep and make me believe there are more layers to Roman then he lets on.
He continues looking at me, phone in hand, but I haven't been able to speak. I think he's waiting on me, though my brain isn't quite registering the difference between real and unreal right now.
He clears his throat again. "Well, can I get your number?"
He doesn't laugh, or sound cocky and annoyed about me being a complete dork right now. He seems … nervous almost. Not nearly as much as me.
I falter, "Oh, of course. Yes, here."
My number is what he was waiting on. Duh. I give him my number and open the door to leave. For like, the third time.
"I'll give you a call." He nods and watches me step out of his car. I'm hoping he doesn't register my inner excitement.
"We're going to have to get together for the speech," he listlessly confirms.
And realization dawns on me. Of course, the speech is why he stopped me for my number. He still has to work with me. I do the only thing I have left in me, before I give up completely. Before shutting the door, I lean down, and in the sexiest voice I can pull off, I say, "Looking forward to it." And I wink. Kill me.
I expel the breath I was holding and walk away. I don't panic or choke. I said what I thought. I can't control the way I react to him.
I look over my shoulder and back at him. He's pulling out of the parking spot. Already, he's on the phone with someone, smiling and laughing like nothing significant just happened. I want to be someone who makes him look like that. I shake my head free of my tangled thoughts. Roman is such a conundrum.
I think about the coffee date the entire drive home, going over our conversations and making sure I didn't say anything stupid. The actual coffee-date part went fine. The normal “let's talk about politics and religion because we're seniors in college and we think we're supposed to”, but all we're really spewing is bullshit. Roman spent the majority of the time trying not to look in my direction. Every time he talked, he made a point to direct his focus on one of the guys. He wouldn't even look at me when I was the one talking. He would always conveniently take a drink of his coffee instead.
I did learn he's a pro paintball player. I don't know much about the sport. I didn't even know it was a sport, or got to professional level anyway. It sounded impressive, though.
Doesn't matter. For me, coffee was the cover for my real intention: asking Roman to be my partner for this god-awful speech I've been dreading. And then I actually did. I tried to sound like it wasn't a big deal, and I just didn't have a partner yet, but I'm not sure he bought it.
When he didn't answer right away, I was sure he was going to say no. Then a low and never-sounding-so-sweet "Sure" fell from his lips. He'd done nothing but ignore me or spout quick one-word responses to me like he was annoyed, but he'd agreed.
I don't know why I care so much. I don't even know him, and that's the craziest part of all. I have this gut feeling there's a reason. More to him than what's on the surface.
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he goes home to tell his friends about the clueless girl who won’t take a hint. But for now, I'm going to revel in the fact that I have a shot at getting to know the guy I can't stop thinking about, and that is incredibly exciting. And terrifying.
The feeling is so unfamiliar to me; I have never acted so crazy about anybody before, much less somebody I don't know. Someone who comes off perfectly indifferent.
Maybe I can do our speech without him noticing my problem. The last thing I need is to give him one more reason to steer clear of me. I don't want to tell him about it. I want him to look at me like I'm normal, not some damaged girl who will eventually be too much to handle.
I ended up getting the phone call the same night. I almost didn't believe he was going to call at all, let alone so soon. I'm giddy as hell as I go to answer. Until I wonder about why he would call so soon. Could he have changed his mind? Changing his mind would be a real possibility. AFI's "Flight of the Phoenix" blares the last line of the chorus through my phone speaker, and I know voice mail is about to click on. I hastily answer.
"Hello?" I sound too apprehensive. I wish I had a redo.
"Hey, it’s Roman. Did I call too soon?" Strange as it sounds, I can hear the smile in his voice.
"No, you're fine. I'm glad you called."
"I thought we could get started on our speech."
I can't help but feel disappointment he had to point the fact out.
He catches my silent chagrin, because he adds, "I also thought maybe we could get dinner first, and, you know, get to know each other."
The last thing he said sounds more timid. Something's changed. He wasn't being detached and disinterested.
"Sounds great, actually," I squeal, with too much enthusiasm.
I can't be sure, but I think I hear him puff out a breath of relief.
"Tomorrow afternoon, so we have time afterward to start working, sound good?"
"Perfect," I agree, with a huge smile he can't see.
"I'll come to you. Give me your address, and I'll pick you up at around five."
"Perfect." Again? Can I not think of another word to say?
Still clutching my phone, I begin dancing and jumping all around like a ballerina on Adderall. I'm in a mid-air fist pump when the sound of Enzo's laugh-cough startles me to a stop. He looks tired as hell. He had a long day of classes.
"Whatcha doin’?" he asks, with a smirk in his tone and on his face.
"Nothing," I sing-song, knowing I'm caught.
"Nothing my ass. You are totally blushing; your cheeks are so red."
"Yeah, well at least I wasn't caught jacking—"
"Ah! Okay, okay I give." He pushes his palms out in front of himself, signaling me to shut up. "If you don't wanna tell me yet, fine, but I think I like this look on you. Just sayin’."
"His name is Roman," I confess. "He's from my poli-sci class."
"I knew it!" He excitedly points at me. "You don't get mushy looks on your face by talking to your mom."
"Don't push it, or I won't tell you anything," I warn.
He raises his hands in defense. "Got it. So when will I get go meet him?"
"Tomorrow, actually, if you're around. We're going to eat and then coming back to work on our project."
"Sweet, you know I'll have to check him out and make sure he's good enough for my Bee." He plops onto the couch next to me.
"Check him out, huh? Yeah, I was doing a lot of that also. Before I got the nerve to ask him out."
And I get a pillow to the face again.
"Seriously?" I shout.
He chuckles and then attempts to fix my hair he and his pillow mussed up.
"That was for the 'me checking him' out comment,” he explains, "but you asked him out for real?" he asks.
"Sure did."
"Nice! I like assertiveness in the females," he proudly remarks.
"Really, you don't think I was too forward or stalkerish?" I ask.
